


Go slow, my soul, to grow bold

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [33]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action & Romance, Dragon Age: Origins Quest - Flemeth's Real Grimoire, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, Injury, Korcari Wilds, Panic, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-15 09:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19610824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Flemeth defeated, Alistair lies injured on the ground.  Caitwyn Tabris impulsively rushes to his side to find he isn’t breathing.It goes as no one expected.





	Go slow, my soul, to grow bold

Alistair’s body hit the slushy ground with a hard smack as the dragon that was Flemeth let out a dying roar. The long neck of the creature waved back and forth before the body collapsed to the ground. 

Alistair didn’t move.

Caitwyn sucked in breath with a whispered, “Alistair.” The cold, clammy air of the swamp bit into her lungs. She should stay back, she should. 

She couldn’t.

“Warden!” Sten barked as he grabbed for her. Twisting her shoulders away from his hand, she surged forward up the rise where Flemeth had transformed into a dragon. 

“Caitwyn, wait! It’s not safe!” Wynne yelled when she should’ve been healing Alistair. The corpse of the woman, the abomination, the dragon,  _ whatever _ she was began to dissolve away, giving the lie to Wynne’s warning.

It was barely thirty feet to him, but Caitwyn was out of breath as she knelt in the dirty slush next to Alistair’s still form. Her breathing threatened to turn into short, sharp gasps. The breastplate of his armor was punctured by toothmarks, and a section of blue gambeson on his left arm was burned away entirely. The exposed skin was bright pink and stretched tight instead of a blackened mess that should have been there; the char of flesh still hung around him.

With surprisingly steady hands she raised the visor of his helm. Wet blood traced down his face from a healed over cut on his forehead, but at the rush of fresh air to his face his chest rose as he breathed.  _ She _ breathed again, and a tremulous relief flooded her, lifting her up on a rising tide.

“Thank Andraste!” Caitwyn cried as she took his face in her hands and raised his head to press her lips to his.

His whole body jerked at the contact, and he whined plaintively against her mouth, “Ooow.”

She let go of his head, his helm crashing into the ground once again. His eyes screwed up and a grimace twisted his features as he grunted with pain. 

“ _ Ow _ .”

“I’m sorry! Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

Heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, she peered down at him and gently traced the tips of her fingers across his cheeks and raised his head slowly to her lap. He’d been so  _ still _ , not even  _ breathing _ . Hazel eyes belatedly focused on her and a lazy, crooked grin spread across his face.

“S’alright,” he slurred. He blinked, right eye then left, and one gauntleted hand reached up to press against her lips. “You  _ kissed _ me.”

“I… yes, but… you almost  _ died _ . What were you thinking, charging a dragon like that?”

“Kissed me, you. Worth it. Need to find more dragons.”

“You’re fine,” she said flatly and let his head drop back to the ground. He winced and tried to roll up to his feet and failed after several attempts. 

“That’s mean. You’re being mean. I nearly  _ died _ .” Flopping down on his back with a huff, he stared up at her, that too pleased grin on his face. Brows knitting of their own accord, she schooled her face to impassivity instead doing what she wanted. Which was grabbing him by the collar and shaking him.

“That’s my  _ point _ ,” she told him through clenched teeth. Probably wouldn’t be able to shake him anyway. He was far too heavy.

“ _ Children _ ,” Wynne’s oh-so-reasonable tones cut through the tension building in Caitwyn’s breastbone. The older woman knelt and waved her hand over Alistair’s form, a blue glow outlining him before sinking into his body. Blinking both eyes at the same time Alistair breathed out and tensed, but before he could stand Sten held out an arm. With a raised brow Alistair took the offer of assistance and Sten hauled the man to his feet.

“That was a well struck blow,” Sten pronounced. The qunari pointedly did not so much as glance in her direction. That was a rebuke for her behavior as much as a verbal chastisement would have been. For once Sten’s stoic reserve, and his preference for stoicism in others, made her want to kick the giant in his bloody kneecaps.

She held herself back, though. There wasn’t a point to it.

“Thanks! Glad  _ someone _ thinks so.” The archness of Alistair’s tone reached her ears and made them burn.

Turning on her heel she headed for the Flemeth’s hut to find what Morrigan was after. The door was unlocked. Everything was where Morrigan had said it would be. The leather of the grimoire’s cover was soft from years of handling, and the embossed stylized tree was nearly worn away. Caitwyn bundled everything up and was about to stuff it all into her pack without bothering to make it tidy when the rose, only now starting to wilt, caught her eye.

It sat there, red petals curling and browning like a silent accusation.

Exhaling with irritation she removed the rose before putting all her finds away, and then laid the rose on top once more. Safe and secure. Standing, she swung the pack onto her back and hiked up the straps only to find Alistair leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

She raised one peremptory eyebrow at him, and he scrubbed a hand through his ruddy hair.

“You’re mad at me, I can tell. And don’t try to deny it. I’m just a bit… confused here. You kiss me, and then you’re tearing my head off. What did I do?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and wanted to sink into the floor to not have to answer that. Didn’t want to think about how still he had been, how she knew he’d been burned and in pain, how he hadn’t breathed for several moments too long. The straps of the backpack strained in her gloved grip, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Roasting meat and the musty odor of herbs filled her nose, and the fire still cracked in the hearth. Flemeth hadn’t expected to lose if she’d let the fire keep burning. It was warm in the cozy hut, but the chill wind of winter oozed in through the open door.

Keeping her eyes closed, she licked her lips and forced the words out.

“I was scared. You might’ve died, and I was so relieved I didn’t  _ think _ . And then you  _ joked _ about almost dying and…” she trailed off and made herself meet his eyes. “ _ That _ was what made me angry. It’s not funny when you get hurt.”

“Well, um. That’s new for me, alright?” He swallowed heavily, but his eyes held hers and he spoke the only way he knew how: honestly, openly, from the heart. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I fought the best I could. The only way I can fight. And if me getting hurt means you don’t, then I’ll take the hit every time.”

“I’d rather you not get hurt for me. Or at all.”

“Me too.”

He grinned again, that crooked grin that curved one corner of his mouth more than the other and made his long nose appear even longer. Her lips twitched upwards in response, and as much as she cared about this unserious, gentle man, it scared her just as much how she couldn’t quite control herself around him. Not anymore.

Which was why she’d kissed him in the first place.

Forcing her voice to be even, she followed his foray back into a less fatalistic humor. With a smirk she said, “I’d start to think you were deranged, not just strange, if you  _ wanted _ to be hurt.”

“Oh, deranged. I could be deranged. Could be fun, that.” His voice bounced over the words, and she rolled her eyes in a display of exasperation she didn’t quite feel. It was too soon after the gut clenching fear of seeing him laid out, but she could play the part of long-suffering woman well enough.

“Well how about you hold off on derangement for a little bit? We should get back. And probably put up the fire and close up the hut. Morrigan might want to come back.”

“Why do I get the sense that  _ I’m _ the one putting out the fire?”

“ _ I _ retrieved all the things we were after.”

He hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin as if he had a full beard instead of a little tuft of fuzz. She didn’t care much for it, but he was so oddly proud about it that she didn’t have the heart to tell him. 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he allowed. Shuffling into the hut, his height making the small one room building shrink as he filled up the space. She didn’t slink away from him as he passed her by and sat back on his heels in front of the hearth. Fire poker in hand, he undid the work of the old witch of story and legend, and belatedly Caitwyn realized she should have checked it for traps. But no horror burst forth, and no explosion blew up in their faces. The logs only shifted and went out as Alistair shoveled ash over them.

From his spot on the rush-strewn floor he glanced up at her, a question in the arched set of his eyebrows. “Cait, I’m sorry about, scaring you. But I can’t forget that you kissed me. Don’t want to ever forget that part of today.”

Holding herself still, as still as a deep pond, she summoned up the courage to  _ say _ what was true. Because he needed to hear it, to know, as much as she knew she  _ should _ tell him.

“Me neither.”

“I know this is all new, and this is probably a selfish question, but um. I have to ask if, um… I mean, I know you’re the one setting the pace, but if I wanted to, you know. Kiss you. Would the be… alright? Not here! Oh Maker, not here. That’d be ugh,  _ weird _ . Imagine kissing—”

She stopped his words with another press of her lips to his.

No hesitation, no control. His lips were chapped from the cold, as were hers, and dry. It was barely more than a peck, a brush of mouth to mouth, and yet an electric thrill ran through her chest and made her stomach flip over in a new and wild delight. He sighed against her mouth, and as she pulled away his eyes fluttered open. Those unserious gentle eyes that made her heart beat like the wings of a bird taking flight.

“Uh…”

“Was that weird?”

“No!” he squeaked. “No, not at all. I just didn’t think that… I mean. I don’t know what I mean. Please help, I’m lost.”

“I think, if you wanted to kiss me, that’d be alright. Can’t very well say you can’t now, can I?” Again she moved without thinking about it, touching her forehead to his, and the last of the tense tightness in her breastbone bled away. He was alive and whole and more worried about if he could kiss her without sending her into another panic than anything else. 

_ A gentle man, little shadow _ , her mother’s voice whispered.

“You could,” he insisted in a low, serious tone. He meant it, too. She straightened and held out her hand. He grasped it and let her pretend she could haul him up. Though he towered over her and outweighed her by at least double, her fear was only residual. Habitual rather than the near panic that had gripped her tight for most of her life.

“Maybe, but I won’t. Give me a bit of warning, though. Maybe no surprise kisses?”

“Hm, do you want a formal request? Caitwyn Tabris, I would like to request one kiss, please.”

“Could give it a try, see what you get.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said softly, his voice a rumble in his chest she could practically feel. “What about one right now, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t.” She didn’t, but that didn’t stop the echo of panic that flitted through her. Gently, and ever so carefully, he tilted her head up and he bent down to softly brush her lips with his. It was her turn to sigh, and she raised up to her tiptoes in spite of herself. This kiss was longer, more press than peck, and his lips parted ever so slightly. Her body made the choice to follow his lead, her blood rushing in her ears. Not in incipient panic, but for  _ want  _ that unexpectedly thrummed through her. Shuddering, she pulled back before she did panic.

“How was that? Are you alright?” he whispered into the hair’s breadth between their mouths.

“I’m alright. I am, it was. Good.” Her hands still gripped the straps of her pack, and the only part of him close to her was his face. His terribly distracting face with its freckles and strong jaw and long nose. Maybe she could grow to like the little tuft of facial hair. For him, she’d try.

“What is taking you two so long in—oh.” They flew apart at the sound of Wynne’s voice, Alistair as red as the setting sun. Her own ears burned like they’d been set on fire. The mage’s face pinched with disapproval for a fraction of a second before she gave them both a bland smile. “I should have known. As endearing as you two are, I believe we should return to the others at Ostagar before dark.”

“I’ve got everything we came for,” Caitwyn said without inflection. Alistair, however, made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and looked everywhere but the old woman. “Come on, Alistair, Wynne’s right. We should go. Wynne lock up would you?”

She strode out of the hut past the mage, Alistair trotting along behind her. “Right, yes, very good. Need to move quickly. Sten! Ah, Sten! Why don’t we walk together?”

“Yes,” the qunari agreed. “This would be an opportune time to give you some instruction on how to fight dragons. You did very well, but there is room for improvement.”

“For once, I’m actually interested. Lecture away!” Caitwyn arched an eyebrow at Alistair for the unusual willingness to listen to the qunari. He shot her a bright, sunny smile in contrast to the grey, murky day, and made a little shooing motion for her to go on ahead.

She inclined her head and picked up her pace as she unslung her bow. As usual, she could avoid scrutiny by scouting, and if Sten wanted to talk about dragons and not inappropriate behavior, well that clearly suited Alistair.

Best of all, no one was near enough to see that she smiled all the way back to camp, or that from time to time she would touch her mouth and feel the warm press of his lips. That was for her alone, and it was hers to treasure.


End file.
